One Marine's Battle
by OrkHammer007
Summary: I was inspired to write this story, based on one of the best modern real-time strategy games ever, after having played through the campaign several times. It's also a tribute to one of the all-time best television series of the 20th century. Enjoy!


Short Story: One Marine's Battle

[Note: this is a work of fiction... blah blah blah... don't try this at home... blah blah... based on "WH40K: Dawn of War-Dark Crusade" from THQ/Relic and Games Workshop. I'm just borrowing it; don't send me money, or I'll be in trouble.

**_Planet Kronus. 5th month of the Dark Crusade. Janus Savannah, noon._**

He stood by the Chapel-Barracks under the scorching sun with the rest of his squad, bolter in hand, with a sense of extreme disorientation and a nagging feeling of _déjà-vu._

"All right, men, listen up!" bellowed the Brother-Captain. As he spoke, he moved back and forth across the formation, sunlight glinting on his golden armor spearing into their helmet's lenses. "This territory is held by the foul Orks! The liberation of Kronus depends on out wresting this place from the xenos, and keeping them cut off from the rest of the planet until we can deal with them properly!"

_I've heard all this before... I think, _the Marine thought. _We need to keep this territory from the Necrons to the north, as well..._

"...to deny them the resources here! Each and every one of you is a Marine; I expect you to fight like a Marine! **For Terra!**"

"**For the Emperor!!!**" the men shouted. He shouted, too, but the confusion made it mechanical, like someone else controlled his voice.

"_Area secured,_" a voice noted over the 'coms.

A Servitor rolled past, peeling up the small rise to the north of the base before turning west. "Must be the small shrine," noted one of the men. "Must have a relic or something valuable."

"Move out!" the squad Sergeant barked. The Marine's squad and another, smaller Tactical Squad jogged away north, moving out into the open wastelands of the Savannah at double-time. Dust kicked up at their boots; it hung in the still air before settling back to the desert floor. Broken towers and jagged rocks sprouted brown weeds here and there, the only real sign of any life.

That changed quickly: a band of Slugga Boyz stood at the center of the plains, chanting and beating the ground with rusty, blood-stained axes. "Orks sighted," reported the squad Sergeant. "Attack!"

As they moved into range, the Marines deployed from column to line and opened up with their bolters; soon the whole squad was firing into the Orks almost non-stop. Two dropped before the rest turned to meet the Emperor's finest and charged with an ear-piercing "WAAAAAGH!"; two more were killed before they closed to melee and began  
swinging axes.

The sound of metal ringing on metal drowned out the other Tac Squad's bolter fire as men pulled knives and blocked the hammer blows of angry green skins. A fine red mist filled the desert air as one squad drove blades into leathery hides as they took a beating  
from crude weapons, while another squad threaded the space between their comrade's bodies with bolter rounds, trying to pry the assailants apart. Long rifles added their voices to the chorus of death when a Scout Squad arrived and began sniping outlying combatants. It was over in minutes that felt like hours: all the Orks lay dead, while 3 Marines bled their last among their corpses.

The one Marine looked down at his armor; blood ran from several minor wounds, even though his armor seemed unscratched. As he stood wondering, a feeling of warmth  
washed over him, and the cuts and scrapes seemed to vanish.

_What the Hells is going on here?_ he thought.

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"Apothecary here," a metallic voice growled behind him. "Who requires my aid?"

The Marine looked around. The bodies of the fallen Orks and Marines had been removed; the Marine squads had been reinforced back to full strength. It did nothing to quiet the unease he'd felt since the battle had begun.

_Something just doesn't look right... or _feel _right... but _what? The answers wouldn't come, hard as he tried to put the pieces together.

The sunlight struck a metallic object in the distance, and stabbed its way to his visor. "Move out!" the sergeant barked, and the squad quick-marched in the direction of the reflected beams. The Marine cradled his heavy bolter and fingered the trigger nervously as they approached the source of the reflections...

_Wait!_ he thought, a blaze of panic shuddering down his spine. _Wasn't I just holding a..._

The thought dissolved as the leading troops opened fire on the source of the glints: a group of Shootaz around another strongpoint on the savannah. They fired back enthusiastically, if a bit wildly: slugs sprayed in all directions, with few even close to their targets.

The trailing squad caught up and added their weapons fire to the fray. Tracers burned across the distance between foes. The air filled with the screams of wounded Orks. Blood sprayed in all directions.

As quickly as it started, the firefight ceased. More Ork corpses lay strewn on the sands; none of the Marines seemed hurt.

_They have to be the worst shots in the galaxy, _he thought. _Why didn't they run?_

The answer came before the barrels on the bolters even cooled: another, larger force of Sluggaz barreled from the northeast, bellowing "WAAAGH!!!"s and brandishing their wicked-looking axes. As one, the Space Marines unleashed their weapons upon them.

It was a different fight this time: the Orks closed into hand-to-hand again, but this time, some of them carried flamers. Searing fire belched forth, cooking unfortunate soldiers in their armor. The second squad tried to break from the grapple, but there were too many bodies between them and the open ground to maneuver free. Knives and axes bit into flesh, and the ground rapidly became stained red with Ork and human blood.

"Die! Die! Die!" shouted a deep voice, and a Dreadnought waddled into the fray. All at once, the battle seemed to tilt back into the Marines' favor. The war machine blasted fire, grabbed Orks in its powerful claws, and generally cut a swath of Ork corpses in its wake. Very soon, the skirmish ended.

It wasn't soon enough, however: fully three-quarters of the Marine squads were dead, and those who lived weren't far behind.

The Marine looked himself over: blood from near-fatal wounds covered the ground at his feet, but...

_Didn't even scratch the paint, he thought. How is it I'm nearly dead on my feet, but my armor isn't even dented?_

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The remnants of the two SM squads hustled back towards the base. Stragglers from other skirmishes attached themselves to the survivors; by the time they reached the small fortified outpost guarding the entrance to the main base, they had almost reached full strength.

And yet... _Where did these new guys come from? _the Marine thought. _They seemed to appear from thin air! Is this the work of the Traitor Legions and their foul gods?_

Standing at the top of the base's entrance were a Chaplain and Librarian, unmistakable in their respective regalia. The skull-helmed seemed to be daring the Orks to attack him; the sleepy-eyed Librarian, on the other hand, didn't seem to be aware of _anything._

The Marine waited for either to say something... _anything._ He knew the Librarian, even looking as if he were napping, was in fact scanning for unseen enemies... including those who seemed to be friends. Neither stirred.

_All right... so my new squad mates are not foes. Then _what _is happening to me? Why doesn't any of this make sense to me?_

And then, at that moment, the world seemed to turn inside-out...

_The Chaplain replaced the fallen Apothecary in his squad; he could feel the balming energies flow through him and restore much of his lost strength. The Librarian joined the other squad, loaning his formidable powers to the small strike force. They would need everything they could lay hands on; battle was about to be joined again._

_The orders came: move east, take the ridge there, and dislodge any Orks before they could fortify it. Hold the high ground until Servitors arrived to construct turrets at the strongpoints. Wait there for reinforcements._

_Almost immediately, there were problems._

_At the foot of the rise leading up to the crest, a small ramshackle-looking post had been slapped together from boards, and a make-shift machine gun turret mounted atop it. As soon as they got in range, the Grot at the gun opened fire. Two of the soldiers were armed with rocket launchers; three more with plasma rifles. Together, the two teams poured overwhelming firepower into the flimsy-looking guard post_,_hoping it would fall quickly._

_It finally did... at the cost of one dead Marine, and several minutes of valuable time lost._

_They ran up to the post's foundation, ripped out the Ork's battle-banner, and replaced it with their own colors before charging up the ramp._

_Things went rapidly downhill from there._

_The small plateau was _already _heavily built_ _up; a veritable forest of Waaagh! banners sprouted at the entrance, and four times as many Orks stood behind them, ready to pounce._

_The strike force had no choice: they commenced their attack at once. An almost solid carpet of bolter rounds, plasma bolts, and a few rockets sprang up in the space between them and the obstructing banners. Then the Orks threw themselves into the fray._

_At first, it seemed that they might have a chance: armor deflected much of the incoming rounds, the Librarian's psychic onslaught wreaked havoc among the hapless green skins, and the sheer power of the Emperor's will within the body of the Chaplain pushed back much of the brunt of the xenos' near-endless fury. Even the Sergeants added words of encouragement between volleys._

_It wasn't enough. The Marine all-too-quickly found himself alone, worms of sheer terror tearing through his guts at the sight of the Warboss bearing down on him, right before the monstrosity tore through his guts with a claw nearly the size of his body..._

...and he found himself standing at the base entrance, with the full compliment of Marines, the Chaplain, and the Librarian waiting patiently in the noonday sun... _totally unscathed._

At that moment, he felt overwhelmingly thankful that the helmet he wore hid his face from inspection. Fear tore through his mind like a comet through the midnight skies. _What the _**_Hells _**_just happened to me? What did I see?_

_Why is this happening to _me?

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As he tried to collect his wits, the order came down: march east, to the ridge, and take the high ground before the Orks fortified it too heavily. It did nothing to help his already unsettled nerves.

_We're going to be slaughtered... for _nothing, he thought. _By the Emperor, our deaths will be meaningless._

The squads began to jog towards the east; the march went by much too quickly for the Marine. He glanced around the flat desert, harshly lit and dry, and wondered why he'd been chosen to die in such a forsaken place.

As they quick-marched, however, he saw something that lifted his spirit, something that his (vision? prophecy? he had no word for it) hadn't prepared him for:

A Predator Tank was motoring fast from the north, on a route that would meet their's at the base of the ridge. "Predator, at your command," the driver called out over the 'com.

Almost as soon as he spoke, the tank opened fire on a ramshackle-looking little defensive position thrown together from splintery boards at the base of the ridgeline. Searing blue columns of destruction lanced into the outpost, tearing it apart in short order, before the Predator rolled along up the short rise.

The Marines followed shortly after it, hoisting their weapons as they charged into their next engagement.

A flood of Sluggaz, Nobz, and Shootaz crashed upon the heavy armor plate of the war machine, trying to hack it apart with axes, claws, teeth, and sheer mass; the infantry scraped them off with bolters and plasma rifles as it tore into the shaky-looking Waaagh! banners barricading the access to the base with lascannons. Bodies began to stack up as more and more xenos fell in their attempt to thwart the Marine's assault.

The tide shifted visibly after almost 3 full minutes. Orkish strength seemed to fade as the fight drained out of them under the withering fusillade of weapons fire and the pounding thier structures took. They tried to turn and flee, to rally and regroup, but they were cornered by the sheer cliff north of the main base. Their fortifications fell one by one; their barracks and armory exploded in gouts of orange fire. The last to fall was a massive fort on the northern edge of the plateau, overlooking a small shrine. Its death marked the end of the bloody battle for the position with a shattering clap of thunder in the still air.

We won, he thought; we lived to see it, too.

What was that... vision I had at the start of the battle, though?

Even as thought about it, however, he realized the feeling hadn't gone away... merely ebbed. A part of himself realized something more was going to happen. The savannah hadn't been fully pacified yet; one very stubborn pocket still remained in the north, and radio traffic reported the presence of the Warboss at the main base there. It would take everything the Marines had available to them to destroy the Waaagh! that festered there.

_What will happen next?_ he thought. Can we win?

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Two Servitors rolled onto the newly-liberated plateau, kicking plumes of dust into the air behind them. One began to construct new guard towers at the sensitive areas of the ridge; the other set about repairing the damage to the Predator tank. The Marines themselves stood at the northern edge of the plateau, watching as two other Tactical Squads filtered into the switch-back that led to the main xeno base. A third Servitor was busily constructing an outpost at the shrine near the base of the cliff they stood upon.

Reports of combat at the entrance to the Ork fortress filtered back to them over the 'com channels: heavy fighting had erupted there, and casualties were piling up on both sides. Fire support was requested.

"Marines reporting," the squad Sergeant said. He seemed to listen for a second, and then said "Move out!" to the assembled troops. They began their quick-march to the area they had just been observing; the Predator joined them after a moment's pause.

The Marine trotted along with the rest, cradling his heavy bolter and thinking about the next (and maybe last) battle in the assault on the savannah. _This still isn't totally right, _he thought. _What is going to happen this time? I thought I knew last time, and now, I can't even get a glimpse of the upcoming fight. What is going on here? Give me a sign!_

No sign was forthcoming. No vision manifested. Nothing gave him a hint as to his fate.

The squads approached the shrine and turned north, then west, towards the main approach to the beachhead the Orks had established. A Whirlwind artillery tank launched rockets to the north, and a Predator spat sparks and smoked as a Servitor worked to repair it. A squad of Marines faced north and unleashed Hell against the as-yet unseen hordes.

The Marine and his squad halted at the eastern wall before the narrow access, scanning for enemies. The Predator split off to move in front of its brother, and fired lascannons into the unseen fray. Answering slugs whistled from the trapped Orkish defenses.

Then things got ugly.

The first Marines came running out of the canyon at full-tilt. They weren't retreating so much as fleeing in utter panic; discipline had totally flown out the airlock. A squad of Assault Troops fought a desperate holding action against the Sluggaz and Nobz pressing them, chainswords swinging against axes, blood spraying from Orks and Marines alike.

The squads in reserve opened fire. Once again, tracers vied with the noonday sun to see which could light the day more brightly. Rounds squeezed between Marine bodies to slam into green flesh; plasma bolts burned into tough hides; rockets scattered the defenders in all directions. Still, bodies on both sides continued to mount. When only 2 Assault Marines were left, they leapt straight into the air and sped off to the south, leaving the tanks, artillery, and two squads to thin the green skins before them.

He could see that would be largely impossible. He gritted his teeth and fired nonetheless.

It seemed like they were trying to extinguish a fusion reactor with a teaspoon of water: Orks flooded from the access to the base and slammed into the attackers with almost berserk rage. Deafening shouts of "Waaagh!" exploded from the horde. Axes slammed into the tanks and men. Pandemonium ruled the battle.

He fired almost incessantly into the raging battle. Heavy bolts ripped through the mass of bodies. It didn't seem to make a dent in the defender's ranks.

"Retreat!!!" someone shouted. The first Predator chose that moment to explode, flipping in the air and landing on its turret. Panic screamed through the Marine like a laser, tearing out his resolve. He turned with the rest of his squad and fled.

The other squad wasn't so lucky: their Sergeant screamed at them to hold their ground, and their rout steadied for a little while longer. As the Marine ran, he glanced back in time to see the last of the trailing squad scooped up in a giant claw and shaken like a bloody doll, before being thrown away by the horror that was the Warboss.

_I don't think we'll survive another assault like that, _he thought. _We almost didn't survive that one._

_How will we defeat this foe?_

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As if in answer to his pleas, there was a flash of light, and an Assault Terminator squad materialized in front of the Warboss, crackles of lightning arcing across their massive hammers and over the massive armor they wore. After a brief pause, they began pounding on the monstrous leader of the Waaagh!

The Marine's squad halted. Those in range began firing into the melee; the rest watched in awe. This was no ordinary event. It was an epic battle, one that might be recounted in generations to come... _if we win,_he thought. The surviving Predator added its own assistance, pouring murderous energies into the foe. Between the bolters, the lascannons, and the bone-pulverizing power of the Terminators' hammers, the Warboss staggered, crumpled, and collapsed dead in short order.

A second Predator closed up on the scene as the grapple came to an end, accompanied by the Chapter's Land Raider. When both halted, Terminators poured from it, armed with autocannons and restless for battle. They began moving into the heart of the enemy base. Weapons fire lashed out once more.

The remaining Marines moved up behind them, firing into buildings, banners, and turrets. Lascannons blazed a path of destruction. The Assault Terminators pounded structures and Orks aside. The mop-up had begun its final stages.

The green skins that remained were no less fierce in the face of defeat, however. A group of Flash Gitz, firing oversized Shootaz and bragging all the while, opened up on the Terminators, somehow managing to kill one or two before bolter rounds took them out of the fight. A pair of Wartraks lobbed rockets at the Predators, which burned the offenders into unrecognizable lumps.

Finally, all that remained was the massive Fort the xenos called headquarters. As they fired into it, the Marine suddenly felt the uneasiness of the day coalesce into a different sensation; it was as if, for the first time, all the threads of his fate had finally braided themselves into an unbreakable cord of destiny. He was the pivot upon which the battle tilted; his actions alone decided defeat... or victory.

"For the Emperor and Imperium!" he bellowed as he poured fire into the run-down-looking Ork HQ. Boards splintered, and smoke spewed from the roof. With a mighty crash, the Orky Fort collapsed...

_...and the Marine glanced up to see a large face across the sky: a bearded man with old-era spectacles and a maniacal grin across his face. "It's about time!" he yelled, seeming to lean back from the figures below._

_"What happened?" another voice said._

_"I beat them! It only took two tries this time, but I beat them!" he exulted. He took off the glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I thought I was beaten when I tried to take the eastern half of the map; he $#ed me up big-time there. Good thing I saved before I tried that."_

_"What's next, Dad?" the unseen other asked._

_"I'm just going to quit for now," the man replied. "I've got a big project due in three days, and I want to finish it off before school on Monday. Want to give it a try?"_

_"Nah. I'm not very good at that one... you know that."_

_"I'll have to show you how to beat it later," he said. He leaned back towards the Marine on the ground, and paused for a moment, seemingly locking eyes with the figure. Then he grinned, and the sky went black..._

The Reclusiarch Mikaelus was leaning over a still figure when Brother-Captain Thule of the Blood Ravens found him. "Is he..." he started to ask.

The skull-helmed figure nodded. Smoke from the wreckage of the recent battle clouded the oppressively-hot atmosphere of the Savannah; fires played among the destroyed Ork buildings and shattered war machines. "I have summoned an Apothecary to recover his gene-seed," he rumbled. "I also summoned the Librarian to study him closer."

"Why? He seemed to be fine when I last saw him," the force commander said.

The massive Chaplain stood, hefting his crozier over his shoulder before replying. "He seemed taken by a battle madness at the end. He stared into the sky and seemed to see... something there that spoke to him. At least, until the Ork came and buried his axe in the poor man's skull."

Thule shook his head. "It was an intense battle here, but we... all of us.. have been through far worse. I see no reason to believe he had snapped." He paused. "Perhaps an agent of the Ancient Enemy clouded his mind at that moment. Chaos is said to have a stronghold nearby."

"I don't know." Mikaelus looked once more at the body of the Marine who'd nearly single-handedly turned the tide of so many skirmishes in the Battle of the Janus Savannah. He shook his head. "Maybe, we'll never know what he saw that cost him his life."

As the white-armored Apothecary trotted up, the two men trudged away towards their stronghold.

[The End


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